


the ice is getting thinner

by tosca1390



Category: West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:58:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Here, at the White House, at Josh’s side—it felt like she was on thin ice.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	the ice is getting thinner

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/profile)[**ineffort**](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/)'s [Awesome Ladies Ficathon](http://ineffort.livejournal.com/198749.html) (the month-long event).

*

 _It had only been a week_ , that’s what Donna had been telling herself all day.

It had only been a week back at the office, and it would be better next week, or even tomorrow. Everyone would stop looking at her like she was a charity case or pathetic; or like they were seeing the dead Congressmen, or Fitzwallace. She felt them ask _why you_? with their eyes, and that had to stop soon, right?

She knew she would never stop asking that of herself.

And Josh was being too nice, and Toby couldn’t speak to her most of the time, and Leo wasn’t there, and the other assistants were kind and friendly but didn’t know what to say, and C.J., when not looking completely harried, seemed guilt-stricken, and Josh didn’t shout her name anymore—

“Donna.”

She had been staring down at her leg, feeling every throb, every twinge of pain. Sitting at her desk, confined by metal and wheels and plaster, she felt entirely useless. She almost wished to be back in Germany; there, it had been okay, to be this crippled.

Here, at the White House, at Josh’s side—it felt like she was on thin ice.

“Donna.”

Glancing up, startled, Donna found C.J. standing over her, taller than ever, looking more tired than Donna had ever seen her in six years. “Hi, sorry,” she said finally, smoothing down her hair.

“Are you feeling all right?” C.J. asked gently, leaning a hip against Donna’s desk.

Donna looked at her, and couldn’t help but think that the papers in her hands should be in Josh’s, the office she was in should be Josh’s now—but Donna wasn’t sure she really felt that way, or it was just the same misplaced loyalty that kept her in this meaningless job in the first place.

“I’m fine,” she said finally, tugging on the cuffs of her button-down. “How about you?”

C.J. shrugged. “All the men around me don’t think I’m qualified or intelligent-enough for my job, and they think I don’t know that they think that. Nothing new,” she said dryly. “I never get tired of chauvinism.”

Donna cracked a smile. “I doubt they will either.”

“Probably not,” C.J. said with a sigh. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to really talk to you, this job is just—“

“It’s totally fine,” Donna said hurriedly. “We’ve all got jobs to do.”

The bustle in the bullpen was slow and muted around them; it was later than Donna really should have been at work, but Josh asked her to stay, to help him look over some language coming out of Commerce, and she was desperate to do something, to get back into the swing of everything. It didn’t matter that a headache pressed hard against her temples and that her home nurse wouldn’t be there to help her when she did get home, and everything would take twice as long, because at least she felt _needed_ again.

Rubbing her temple, C.J. smiled wanly. “Listen, could you give Toby a hand in the next couple of days or so? He’ll be looking for my replacement, and he had no sense of—“

“Style?”

“I was going to say _anything_ , but sure, we’ll go with style.”

Donna laughed at that, pushing her hair behind her ears. “As long as Josh doesn’t need me, I think it should be fine. I’d love to help.”

C.J.’s eyes strayed towards Josh’s office, the door open to a slight crack. “He still here?”

Donna nodded. “Looking at language from Commerce.”

C.J. looked at her pointedly. “He was a mess, you know.”

The back of Donna’s neck grew warm. “I don’t understand.”

“After we heard about the explosion.”

A cold sweat swept across her skin, goosebumps rippling up her arms; Donna swallowed hard, trying not to think of the hot white heat, metal curled around her, the yells and screams, all the sand that she still felt in the crevices of her skin. “Okay,” she said finally, stomach roiling.

All of a sudden, C.J. looked absolutely stricken. “God, I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—“ she cut herself off, looking at Donna with so much sadness that Donna felt like she was drowning, or going under anesthesia once more. “You’re talking to someone, right?”

 _Someone_ as in a therapist. Donna nodded, thinking of the appointment card sitting in her planner for next Tuesday, her first, and oh god how she was dreading it.

C.J. looked intensely relieved. “Good, okay. Good.” She touched Donna’s shoulder lightly, standing upright. “Let’s try and have lunch in the next week. Talk to Margaret, she’ll get you in,” she said with a smile, everything tinged with regret. “God, how ridiculous. This is my life, now.”

Donna smiled and waved her on her way, trying to suppress the tightness in her chest, the fierce racing of her pulse. She pressed a hand to her temple, leaning back in the wheelchair and sighing heavily. Shutting her eyes, she breathed in even and deep, just as her physical therapist instructed.

 _This is my life, now._

And this was Donna’s. A diplomatic passport and one near-death experience later, and she was still at this desk, wheeling around a White House she almost didn’t recognize with Josh, who she loved, she knew that now, and who perhaps echoed that, after Germany. But here they were stuck in their same routines, on the same ice that was wearing away year after year, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take of it.

She had lived, and she wasn’t sure that this was enough to have lived for.

“Hey.”

At Josh’s weary-ragged voice, she sat up and opened her eyes immediately, looking up. “Yeah?”

Josh leaned against her desk, in the same place C.J. had just been, files stuffed under his arm. He looked tired and pale, something soft in his eyes. “You look beat.”

She lifted her chin, heat returning to her face. “It’s the cast,” she said shortly. “You need me?”

His gaze softened even more, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. In his exhaustion he was unguarded and concern curdled in her stomach. _Not here_ , she thought desperately. _Not here, not now, not yet. We’re not ready_.

 _I’m not ready._

“I’m starving,” he said after a moment. “Let’s go down to the mess and look over the language over dinner.”

Breathing out slowly, she nodded. “You’re supposed to pay attention to meals, Josh. You know how you get when you have low blood pressure,” she said lightly after a moment, wheeling herself out from the desk.

He grasped the handles of her chair and pushed gently, catching her off-guard. “I’m fine, Donna.”

“You get moody and snippy,” she protested. “You’re a child.”

Laughing, he bowed his head close to hers as they maneuvered through the halls. “One of the nicer things you’ve said to me, Donnatella.”

Donna settled uneasily into the chair, listening to Josh prattle on about food and children and what-have-you. It felt almost normal, but the cast on her leg and the sad cast to his eyes belied that.

They were both skating on thin ice. At some point, it would have to crack.

*  



End file.
